


The King and The Consulting Detective

by timetravelingslytherinincamelot



Category: Doctor Who, Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetravelingslytherinincamelot/pseuds/timetravelingslytherinincamelot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a servant is determined to be king of Camelot, he sends Arthur, and Merlin by accident, elsewhere with the use of magic. What he doesn't know is that they end up in present London with two men as strange as them. Sherlock and John are determined to send them back to the past. Sherlock knows how. After all, The Doctor does owe him a very big favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unfaithful Servant

“Rise and shine,” Merlin cheered happily as he drew the curtains of Arthur’s chambers. 

The king stirred uneasy in his bed and faced the opposite way of the sun’s incandescent rays. 

“Arthur, it’s your birthday! You’ve got lots to do before the feast,” Merlin stated elatedly. 

Arthur grunted, buried his head in the pillows, and pulled the sheets over his head. Merlin sighed and literally dragged the king out of bed. How Arthur managed to still be tired after going to bed so early was still a mystery to the young warlock. 

“Nooooo!” Arthur struggled as he Merlin set him gently on the floor. 

He stood up reluctantly as Merlin shoved him his clothes. 

“Breakfast is on the table,” he pointed before reassuming his additional duties in preparation for the king’s party. 

* * *

The lanky young man eyed around him to make sure nobody had followed him out of Camelot. He paced anxiously and started to doubt that the old hag would keep her word. Just then, a gust of violent wind created a tornado of the fallen autumn leaves; it died down and the witch appeared in the same ancient rags and cloak she’d worn the night she’d made the promise to him. 

“Do you have it?” he asked assertively, making an effort to mask the trepidation in his voice. 

The old woman reached into her torn robes and pulled out a plump red apple and a small glass vile containing a thick, dark green liquid. 

The man walked over and reached a craving hand at the objects. The witch pulled them to close to her chest and extended her opposite hand. The boy reached into his pocket and placed a small brown pouch containing gold coins that he’d managed to steal from a drunken old man at the tavern, and a nail clipping, in the dirty hand of the witch. 

She inspected the coins before opening the vial and dropping in the nail. It dissolved vigorously into the potion, tuning it from a dark green to a clear purple. She handed the man the objects. 

“Nobody must touch him while he bites the apple or they will be sent off too. And remember, Arthur Pendragon will only have twenty-four hours to return before he is stuck forever,” the old witch croaked. 

“Where exactly will he be stuck?” the young man asked confused. 

She smiled, revealing a set of rotting yellow teeth, before being engulfed once again by the dead leaves. A foul odor filled the air and the young man stood alone in the forest once more. He cackled victoriously before heading back to the castle to prepare the dining hall for the king’s birthday feast. 

* * *

Arthur lingered nervously outside the door; with his manservant sticking to his side the entire time. 

“Nervous?” Merlin mocked. 

“Of course not! Don’t be so dumb, Merlin,” Arthur said annoyed.

“Is it because it’s your first birthday as the king?” Merlin smiled. 

Arthur grabbed him the shoulder and scrutinized him angrily. He let go of Merlin, going soft at the sight of his innocent, boyish grin. 

“You better be a fine servant tonight,” Arthur warned less harshly. 

He motioned to the guards and the already loud chatter turned into a roar of delighted cheers. The knights raised their wine-filled goblets as Arthur walked by. Gwaine smirked apologetically to Merlin and pointed at Arthur. He returned the gesture with a gentle nod. 

The night went by very smoothly. Arthur had only motioned to Merlin thrice for wine, which was a big change from the Arthur that drank himself close to unconsciousness. 

Arthur stood and thanked everybody with a short speech before leaving the party but encouraged to continue as long as they wished. He motioned for Merlin who followed him obediently. They were out the door and headed for the king’s chambers when they were stopped by a redhead man dressed in the castle’s servant attire. 

“Sire,” the boy bowed. “May I be so out of mind as to offer you a simple birthday gift?” 

Arthur watched wearily but signaled for the servant to proceed. 

“My lord, I wish to bestow you with this meager apple to show my most sincere appreciation and gratitude. I know it is certainly not a present fit for a king,” he looked down shyly, “But I grew it with my own hands and it took a lot of effort. It would mean the world to me if you so even consider accepting it, Sire.” 

Arthur smiled and patted the servant tenderly on the shoulder. Merlin gawked invidiously at the servant. 

“What is your name?” Arthur asked. 

“Tobias, Sire,” he bowed again. 

“Tobias, it would be my pleasure to accept your gift. You can be sure that I will indulge of this fruit when I return to my chambers,” Arthur smiled again. 

“Thank you so much, Sire,” he bowed for the third time, before making his way back to the kitchens. 

“What was that?” Merlin said as if he were jealous. 

“What? The man offered me a gift and I was in no place to deny it, Merlin. You should take a lesson from him,” Arthur said as they made their way back to his chambers. 

They were both completely unaware that Tobias had hid behind a door and now followed them booth to the king’s chambers.  
 

* * *

“Merlin, I wish to take a bath,” Arthur said taking his shirt off. 

“What? You could have told me this before. Now, I have to walk all the way back to get the water,” Merlin complained. 

“Merlin,” Arthur warned in his usual tone. 

“Alright… prat,” he muttered under his breath. 

Merlin headed out the doors but hid behind a curtain when he heard faint footsteps making their way down the hall. Tobias sneaked his way to the hallway of the king’s chambers. Merlin spied and witnessed Tobias pulling out a small vial filled with a purple liquid, from his shirt. 

The guy gulped it down with one swig and collapsed to the floor with a sickly cough. Merlin watched as his red hair turned a familiar ashy blonde tone and his scrawny body slowly morphed into that similar of a knight. His arms were almost too muscular and his back was visibly strong underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The body seemed so familiar to Merlin, but he couldn’t quite explain why. As Tobias stood up it was very clear to Merlin why he knew the body so well. It was so unbelievably obvious that he almost didn’t believe his eyes. Tobias had transformed into Arthur Pendragon. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, quickly understanding the danger the real king was in. 

He ran from his hiding spot to Arthur’s chambers. All of a sudden, he was held at the throat by the now fake, Arthur’s arm. His eyes instinctively flashed their warm golden color and the guy was thrown to the floor with a harsh thud. 

Merlin ran into Arthur’s room and lunged himself at the king when he saw his motion to bite the poisoned apple.

“ARTHUR NO!” Merlin cried, slapping Arthur’s hand with his rough finger tips just as he sank his teeth into the fruit’s tempting flesh. 

A cloud of lustrous silver glitter exploded out of thin air and vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving no evidence of Merlin and Arthur’s existence.  

* * *

“John!” Sherlock called impatiently. 

Barely thirty seconds had passed before his voice broke though the small flat again. 

“John!” Sherlock yelled once more. 

Upstairs, John retrieved his towel from the floor; not bothering to put on any pants, wrapped it around his waist, and grabbed his razor blade. He rushed down the stairs afraid that Sherlock might be in danger.  

“What’s the matt…” John stopped mid-sentence. “Sherlock! What now? I was about to take a bath!” John said annoyed when he saw that Sherlock was in no danger, but sitting comfortably in a chair looking into his microscope. 

“Can you pour me some more tea, thanks,” Sherlock said without looking up. 

John said nothing; he was used to Sherlock’s ridiculous demands by now. He walked over to the teapot, and poured more tea into the empty mug with his free hand. He was so into making sure it was filled completely that he barely noticed his towel was slipping off. 

“Put some pants on, John,” Sherlock said as soon as the towel hit the floor. 

John looked down and reached for his towel with a blush, noticing that Sherlock was still plastered to the microscope. 

“Christ. Sherlock I wouldn’t hav…” he was cut off by a crashing sound on Mrs. Hudson’s bins. 

“What wa…” Sherlock stood and moved his hand over John’s mouth. 

It was completely silent. 

“Get dressed quickly,” he demanded. 

“What?” John looked around bewildered.  

“Go get dressed, John!” Sherlock said impatiently.

“Why?” John asked. 

“Unless you’ve gone deaf all of a sudden, John, I am to assume you heard that too,” Sherlock said obviously.  

John ran upstairs and back down in less than a minute, all dressed and ready to go. He made his way down stairs when he noticed that Sherlock was no longer in the flat. He waited for John with his coat in hand at the door. He followed Sherlock behind the alley; both men completely unaware that they were about to acquire new temporary flat mates. 

 


	2. An Unlikely Situation

The two men laid unconscious on top of Mrs. Hudson's black bins. The younger one had a very pale skin and a mop of dark hair. Much to John's dissapointment, it was straight unlike Sherlock's mad curls. It was faint enough that if John didn't know who Sherlock's brother truly was, he would mistake the young bloke to be related to him. His sharp cheekbones, jaw line, and defined rosy lips resembled Sherlock's; he even had a blue scarf like the detective. John caught himself admiring Sherlock's face in the lustrous shine of the moon. Damn, he really hoped that Sherlock didn't notice that, which of course he had. The best John could hope for was that he would be distracted enough later to not bring it up. Sherlock had a thing for wanting to discuss embarrassing things like that with John. It's not like the army doctor could say something, he knew that Sherlock wasn't keen on people's feelings. The other man's face was barely visible but John could make out that he had blonde hair. He was shirtless and his back muscles seemed too handsomely rugged for his own good.

"John, are you even listening to me?" Sherlock blurted out irritated.

John looked up at him with innocent eyes.

"Let's go," Sherlock turned on his heels and started strutting back to their flat.

"Uh, no," John pulled him by the elbow, his coat swishing dramatically around him like a cape.

"Where in the blasted galaxy do you think you're going? Help me get them up," John pointed.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John cut him off before could get a chance to object.

"It was your bloody idea to come out here, that makes us partially responsible. They might be hurt, Sherlock," John pointed again to the feeble men.

Sherlock eyed John up and down angrily before straightening his coat and effortlessly throwing the dark haired boy over his shoulder. He watched as John huffed furiously him. He tried hard to keep his composure as he watched John try to pick up the blonde male.

"This amuses you?" John scoffed when he'd finally managed to carry the beast of a man.

"I'll leave you to your deductions," Sherlock said before heading back to 221B.

* * *

"No," Sherlock yelled furiously.

"Why not Sherlock? Christ," John muttered throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

"No," Sherlock picked up his violin and started to pluck its strings when John ripped it away harshly from his massive hands.

John was the only other person that was allowed to touch Sherlock's violin; but even he got a nasty look when he treated it disrespectfully. Sherlock's death stare followed him as he walked about the living room.

"Listen we're not leaving them on the damn couch. They might wonder off when they wake up," he sighed. "They're not that intoxicated, or drugged. It's almost like they fell out of the sky and landed on the bins because all they've got is minor cuts and bruises. I'm not even sure why they're unconscious."

"Fine doctor Watson. But that doesn't mean they have to stay in my bed," Sherlock scoffed.

"It's one bloody night Sherlock! You don't even sleep," John argued.

Sherlock sighed and gracefully placed his lanky fingers underneath his chin.

"I need to send a text," he said out of nowhere, stretching a hand for his phone.

His long fingers stroked away at the screen. John sat in his chair across him and contemplated deeply on what he was about to propose.

"Oh that won't be necessary," Sherlock interjected as if he could hear what John was thinking.

"We can stay in my bed. Seeing that Lestrade will be here with a promising case tomorrow, I could benefit from a bit of rest myself to keep me going to the end without pointless interruptions. We can carry them up to yours," he stood and picked up the dark haired boy off the couch.

John sat unmoved on his chair wondering about the arrangements that Sherlock had created without a minute's notice. He just watched the sociopath while waited for him at the foot of the couch, man in arms. His hands got clammy and he seemed to be tongue tied.

"Nooo," John was able to finally choke out.

"Fine. I'll carry the blonde one," Sherlock said picking up the opposite man with ease.

"No. That's not what I meant," John hesitated.

"Don't be absurd, of course it isn't. I'm only doing this to take the load off your hands. You were going to offer me your bed and then suggest you take the couch." Sherlock stated obviously. "But that wouldn't be fair to either of us, would it?" he asked innocently.

"I, no. I suppose not, no. No that wouldn't," John stuttered awkwardly.

"It's settled then?" Sherlock asked trying to hide his excitement.

"Yes," John regretted his confirmation immediately.

* * *

Sherlock felt strange in John's room with him present. John was completely unaware that Sherlock had snuck up in the past countless times after he'd disappeared to work, to reassume his thinking. Somehow it just now hit Sherlock how invasive the entire situation really was. He made a mental note to stop doing it, even if there was absolutely no risk of John finding out. There was just an aura that lured him. The blue walls that matched his favorite scarf perfectly were just so pleasing and familiar. The impeccable neatness, that could only be found in their rooms, made that flat feel like home. It was mainly, however, the smell that attracted Sherlock the most. It was John. The delicate aroma of shampoo had long been penetrated into the syzygy of stiff pillows; the fresh scent that was John had become the essentialness of the worn blankets. This room was John; or at least it meant that John was still alive; his heart still beating; his brain still functioning.  
And although Sherlock didn't concern himself with matters dealing with sentiment, he couldn't deny to himself what he felt when he was surrounded by John's stuff. The very inexplicable essence that was John Watson attracted Sherlock like honey does bees. It showed him the light when he had trouble solving a case; it made him want to give in to ordinary human functions in order to stay alive longer, only to be with John. He wasn't clueless, he knew exactly what it was he felt for John, but he would never allow his feelings to show because he knew John was too stubborn and proud. The last thing he wanted to be known as was gay; he'd made that very clear. Not even Sherlock was sure he could be called that since he'd never given attention to his sexuality. All of his life he was too busy to focus on such silly things. He never though it was of great importance to be involved in a relationship. The two times he'd actually thought about such humane situations, he'd imagined himself with a female. The fact that he was physically and emotionally attracted to John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was as foreign to him as the taste of burgers to vegetarians.  
"Sherrrrrlock," John waved his calloused hand in front of the consulting detective's face.

"Hmm? Mhhm," was all Sherlock could manage before setting the bloke on John's bed and walking out quickly.

John watched him confused as he glided down the rutty, creaky steps.

* * *

Sherlock checked his phone eagerly once he was alone in the living room. NO NEW MESSAGES he read, his smile turning into a frown. He threw his phone on the couch and paced anxiously around the flat, ruffling his insane curls as he went.  
He took what John thought was his thinking place and leaned against the window when he heard him coming down the stairs. It was great John assuming that; he would never disturb him with nonsense about the bills or groceries. Truth was, Sherlock liked to quicken his skills and deduce anybody walking on the sidewalk that would pass by.  
"I'll make us some tea, chamomile you like that. Yes?" John called out, proceeding to the kitchen to set the kettle, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.

Sherlock smiled tenderly and went back to his deducing exercise.


	3. Secrets

Sherlock's bed was nothing how John imagined it would be. He, for some reason, had acquired the suspicion that Sherlock slept on a mattress and pillows a little too firm for a rock. He was flabbergasted when Sherlock's mattress molded perfectly to his aching back and nearly went into shock when he almost sank into the plush pillows that smelled of very expensive shampoo; Sherlock's shampoo. The smell was so hypnotic what John found himself intoxicated and felt obligated to bury his face into them to indulge in Sherlock's sweet fragrance.

"Dirty English," Sherlock called out from the doorway with a cocky smirk.

John raised his head and blushed a deep crimson. Sherlock's crooked smile got wider.

"Shut up," John warned seriously.

Sherlock eased the smile off his faced and flopped onto his stomach on the right side of the bed next to John.

"I have to touch your hair," John said without thinking. "I uh, I meant my. My hair. I have to brush my hair," he rushed to the bathroom and shut the door harshly behind him.

"Of course," Sherlock grunted mockingly after John was gone. He got up swiftly and removed everything but his Hugo Boss boxer briefs and then got back to bed and pulled the white sheets over his head.

* * *

John splashed cold water on his flushed face hoping it would snap him out of whatever trance he seemed to be stuck in. What had he been thinking, burying his face into his flat mate's pillows like that.  _To be fair_ , he thought,  _they did smell magnificent_. After debating with himself, he decided that he hadn't been thinking and that he couldn't not think again while in Sherlock's presence. He took in some deep breaths to calm down the nerves that were mysteriously always present when he was with Sherlock. _This is perfectly normal_ , he reminded himself, _we are just two straight friends sharing a sumptuous king-sized bed because we have to; not because we want to. It's all fine because I'm not gay_. _I can't be gay for Sherlock Holmes_ , he repeated over and over in his head. He took a good look in the mirror before heading back to bed. He crawled underneath the sheets to find a comforting warmth emanating from Sherlock's almost naked body. Naked?

"WOOOAHHHH!" John screamed to a surprisingly sleepy Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock wrestled with sheets as he rubbed his tired eyes.

"You're only wearing pants! Where are your clothes? They were on when I left!" John was freaking out.

"Ugh, you woke me up for this nonsense?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They're right here on the floor," he shifted back onto his stomach.

John sat a safe distance away from Sherlock on his bed. He contemplated which would be worse: enduring a rough night of sleep on the stiff couch or a painfully awkward night in Sherlock's perfect bed.

"Relax John, you're not gay remember," Sherlock muttered half asleep.

It wasn't long before John was left alone with his thoughts. Sherlock's breathing was a low and steady rumble. It was the first time John had seen him sleep so peacefully. As he watched his chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm he realized for the first time that Sherlock Holmes the only Consulting Detective in the world, was human. As much as the bastard hated to admit so, he had a beating heart and required the same fundamental physical needs as anybody else in order to survive despite his lack of interest in nourishment and rest.  
John nestled himself into the masterpiece of a bed and pulled the lush sheets over his frigid limbs; Sherlock's warmth felt tender on his skin. No wonder he didn't like anybody else in his bed. If John slept in these conditions every night he would have acted as bloody jealous as Sherlock had. John let out a small chuckle.  _You are in so much fucking trouble Hamis_ h, he thought with a smug grin on his face.

"Goodnight Sherlock," he mumbled to the sleeping dragon-like creature next to him and joined him in a pleasant slumber.

* * *

The unmistakable cackle rang in Sherlock's ears.

"No please," he pleaded to the dim shadow in the distance. "Not John,"

Moriarty's tenacious manicured hands held Sherlock by the jaw. Pernisiousness burning wildly in his dark chocolate eyes. Sherlock could feel the delicate blow of the psychopath's lips on his sharp cheekbones.

"You're ordinary," he whispered malevolently. "You're weak."

Sherlock's sudden laughter flooded the room like a roar.

"If there is one thing I am not, it's weak. I own the one ingredient you so desperately crave; I have a friend," Sherlock uttered.

"Sebastian," Moriarty signaled.

The dim figure raised a gun to the sturdy figure kneeling on the ground and pulled the trigger.

Sherlock watched John collapse to the floor with a thud.

"Oops, there's goes your only toy," Moriarty shrugged.

"You're insane," He gasped to Moriarty as he struggled to free himself from the ropes; his pearly skin getting burnt in the process.

"You're just getting that now?" he asked mockingly and cackled again, this time victoriously.

* * *

Sherlock woke up from his nightmare to find himself tangled into John. The army doctor's head was resting lazily on his chest and his left arm was tightly holding onto Sherlock's slim waist. His legs were completely intertwined with his and John was still too far in a deep sleep to realize he'd turned Sherlock into his personal teddy bear during the night.

"John," he gasped quietly, his dream now becoming a fading memory being deleted.

Sherlock couldn't resist and rested his lips on John's ashy blonde hair. He caressed the striking battle wound invading his left shoulder and slid his arm over John's raw shoulders to pull him closer as he tenderly kissed his forehead.

"See, not gay at all," Sherlock whispered with a sly and relieved smile before falling back to sleep.


	4. Wonders and Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chunk of this chapter very simply so that you could get a feel of Merlin's confusion. All of this modern stuff like a toilet and a sink are supposed to seem like just things, not really useful or anything. So if you're wondering why it's really crap-like written it's supposed to be like that. I hope I don't disappoint you guys too much. Other than that THANK YOU <3 for reading this and enjoy!

The light peeked through Merlin's sensitive eyelids. He opened his eyes slowly to welcome a fresh new day, completely forgetting the events that had occurred the previous night. He sat up in the bed, splitting headache threatening to crack his skull in two. He barely realized that a shirtless Arthur was cozily snoring next to him. His body felt limp and a strong taste of copper filled his mouth. He thought back to previous night; the same blue of the scarf he had caught a glimpse of, painted the walls. Merlin had been fighting the urge to let the drowsiness snatch him away from the nightmare they were living. It took him a while to recall that he had fought just long enough to hear that nor Arthur, or himself were in immediate danger for the men who had found them were luckily not some creeps that intended to skin them and have them for breakfast. One of them sounded genuinely concerned about him and Arthur and had been stern enough to force his friend to take them in.  _But what happened before that_? The question clawed at his memory.  _Think_ , Merlin told himself as he rubbed his aching temples with his long fingers. He pondered long before it finally came to him.  
  
 _That servant, Tobias, had turned into Arthur and I ran. I was about to slap the apple out of Arthur's hand when we I got that tingly feeling all over my body and then we hit the floor…_ Merlin thought about it over and over. It sounded even madder the more he thought about it.  _How could an apple send us here?_  He concluded that the magic Tobias had used must have been very powerful to send two people to..  _Where exactly did it send us?_  Merlin felt the nagging sensation at the back of his throat and felt he was going to be sick. He looked around again, this time paying attention to every detail in the room. It seemed so foreign and drab that we was only sure of one thing: they were not in Camelot anymore.  
  
He threw his legs over the bed and reluctantly stood. He was taken aback when the room spun and his vision was slightly blurred. He grasped the edge of the dresser to hold himself steady. When he'd finally recovered he almost walked away to investigate where he was but his eye caught hold of a large object, he'd never seen before, on the dresser. Merlin was mesmerized by the strange looking thing; he pulled the string attached to the bizarre contraption; it illuminated the room with light. He took a closer look to see that a soft glow radiated from a miniscule clear ball. He pulled the string again and the flame instantly went out. He grinned innocently and pulled the string several times before understanding the concept of the object. It seemed that every time you pulled the string a flame would appear and with another pull of the string it would die. _What a neat use of magic_ , he thought to himself.  
  
He inspected the room which was far too small to be a kings but too large for a commoner. He sauntered over and walked through the small wooden door. It was pitch black. His eyes flashed gold and the room was illuminated.

"Woah," he whispered in disbelief.

"What is this?" he asked, almost as if the answer would appear on the white walls.

The place had a medium abnormal bowl attached to the wall with a lever. Merlin pushed the lever cautiously and there was a wooshing sound inside. He opened the lid and pushed the lever again. The water was sucked down in a tornado like motion until it was completely gone before it filled up with water again. He walked over to the basin and caught the sight of himself in the square mirror. The black circles seemed to have gotten puffier and darker overnight; his mop of hair was a mess; his ivory skin seemed almost translucent. He shrugged it off, this wasn't anything extreme considering this is what he looked like almost every other day due to his physically straining duties as the King's man servant. Merlin was more interested in turning the knobs adhered to the porcelain basin. Water came out of a the metal tube sticking out of the basin.

"What?" he admitted confused.

He wondered how it was possible to use magic in such an efficient manner. He had never heard or seen of its use like this. Most of his encounters had been dealing with killing strange creatures and saving Arthur with it. Never in his life did he imagine that a sorcerer would make use of magic to ease his life.  
  
Despite his confusion he still wanted to see how these men were making use of it. He walked over to the peculiar tub and turned the knobs on the wall. He was surprised by a cold spray of water coming from the wall. He shivered and turned the knob to stop the water. He mindlessly grabbed the red towel off the metal rod and dried himself off before unpleasantly making his way about the place to discover what exactly was going on.

* * *

A very soft knock on the door broke through Tobias's pleasant dream. He sat up hesitantly and his vision slowly came to focus. He had to be in Arthur's chambers. The bed alone, with pillars almost to the ceiling, gave that away instantly. The knock continued, this time a little more insistent.

"Come in," he called out, his own voice sounding strange to his ears. It didn't take him long to remember that it wasn't really his voice.

"Arthur?" Gwen peeked in from the door way.

"What do you want?" Tobias asked annoyed.

"I'm terribly sorry if I've woken you. I heard the guards found you unconscious last night and they had to get you to bed. Are you alright?" Gwen asked lovingly walking to Arthur's bedside.

"Yes of course I'm alright. Where is my breakfast?" Tobias wondered uninterested in Gwen's concern.

"I don't know. That's usually Merlin's job," she said.

"Merlin? Oh yes. Merlin my manservant," he said a little too bitterly.

"I'm sure he just had a rough night and overslept," Gwen assured.

"Well he's none of my concern, after all he's just a servant. Get someone to bring me my breakfast will you Guinevere?"

"Yes of course Arthur," She smiled.

Gwen walked out and closed the doors behind her. She wondered about why Arthur had acted so cold towards her and called Merlin just a servant. She walked over to the guards and asked politely if Arthur he'd been alone when they found him. The guards simply nodded and that left Gwen filled with doubts. She'd seen Arthur walk out with Merlin from the party, and surely Merlin wouldn't have left him alone if he'd been even slightly drunk. Something didn't seem right to her. She had to find Merlin.

* * *

"Merlin!" Gaius yelled again.

"Merlin you're late!" Gaius finally gave up and barged into Merlin's room only to find an untouched bed. Merlin was nowhere in sight.

* * *

"Gaius?" Gwen was about to knock on the door when the old physician looked up at her surprised.

"Gwen, is everything alright?" he asked.

"I was just wondering is Merlin was here, I need to talk to him," she smiled.

"Well I'm afraid we're both out of luck Gwen," Gaius looked worried.

"Why?" Gwen asked, the pit in her stomach getting worse.

"I'm afraid he didn't sleep here last night," he said concerned.

" Gaius I think something is terribly wrong," she confided in the old man.

"Why do you say that?" He asked even more worried now.

"I don't know if you've heard, but the guards found Arthur unconscious in the hallway last night. This morning I went to see if he was alright and he acted very strange Gaius. He was cold, rude almost. I asked the guards if he'd been alone last night, and he had. But I saw him leave the party with Merlin and he would never leave Arthur alone if he'd been drunk, it's not like him," she admitted anxiously.

"Yes, I saw them leave together too. And you're right, Gwen, that doesn't sound anything like Merlin," Gaius suspected that this wasn't a normal problem, his gut told him that magic was involved somehow.

"Did you ask Arthur if he'd seen him?" he asked.

"No but he didn't seem the least concerned that he was missing," Gwen bit her lip nervously.

"Don't worry, Gwen. I'm sure we'll figure something out," he pat her hand lovingly.

"Thank you Gaius. I have to get back to work but I'll come find you as soon as I get a chance," she smiled.

"I'll see if I can find something out in the meantime," he said, and headed off to find Arthur. Surely the king could explain to him in detail exactly what had happened.

 

* * *

 

John felt the soothing nuzzle on his hair. He rubbed his groggy eyes with one hand while the other held firmly onto Sherlock's waist. His eyes shot open when he realized the absurdity of what he had done. Sherlock was completely sprawled on the bed, the sheets had been kicked away during the night, and John was more than happy to be nearly on top of him. His heart skipped a beat when Sherlock's pillow rustled; _oh god he's awake. He knows I'm cuddling him, I'm dead,_  John declared in his head. He dared not move a muscle, and instead waited for Sherlock to open his eyes and push him off, but nothing happened. Sherlock, still absolutely asleep, simply shuffled a bit to adjust his position. John breathed out a sigh of relied and stared in awe at the contrast of his dark curls against the white of the pillows cases; his face growing a faint smile filled with fascination and lust.  _Not good,_  he thought, taking the opportunity to tip toe out of the room and get ready for what he was sure would be a grueling day.

* * *

John had just closed the squeaky door of the bedroom when an alarming crash sent him running to the kitchen in his boxers.

The dark haired boy stood paralyzed over a mount of shattered glass and an unpleasant splatter of putrid smelling gunk.

"Did you vomit?" John asked, his stomach churning at the unusually foul odor.

"Those are fingers. Real human fingers!" Merlin cried out horrified, and pointed at the mess on the floor.

"Bollocks," John muttered under his breath. "That's it. Sherlock is going to cut our heads off. He's been working on that for months," he paced nervously about the kitchen.

"Sorry," Merlin waved his hands in the air. "In case you haven't noticed, there are fingers on the floor!" he motioned again.

"Stay there," John warned angrily and headed for the cleaning supplies in the emergency cupboard.

Beheaded? Merlin could only assume that this Sherlock was the king, and by the looks of it, this wasn't going to be an pleasant encounter. His brain told him to get Arthur and run, but his body betrayed him and kept him fastened to the floor.

Sherlock's servant came back with something Merlin finally recognized, a rag and a bucket. He watched warily as the man knelt to the floor and cleaned up the human parts. John retched at the smell which only encouraged him to clean the mess faster.

"I'm going to bloody shoot him," he muttered quietly to himself.

"Sit down," John said less harshly when he finished cleaning and washing his hands.

Merlin obeyed.

"I'm sorry about that. It's just Sherlock is very rigorous about his experiments," he apologized. Merlin stared at him blankly, letting the awkward silence engulf them both.

"Where are we?" he finally asked.

"London?" John responded confused.

"Wha…What's a London?" his curious voice now trembling.

John leaned back into the wooden chair, his face filled with uncertainty.

"What do you mean 'what's a London'? Christ," he paused. "How much did you have to drink mate?"

"No, no. I didn't drink. Listen, I just need to know if we're a long way from Camelot," Merlin's patience was turning into desperation.

"Camelot?" John inquired, truly perplexed. "Are you mad?"

Merlin looked at him blankly.

"Arthur and I need to get back home," Merlin was annoyed at the man's incompetence. "I know you're a sorcerer, and although I have never encountered magic like this in my life, let me tell you that it's my duty to protect the once and future king of Camelot and I will do whatever it takes in order to keep my word," he went on.

Meanwhile John watched with fascination and figured out what this was all about. He giggled unexpectedly when Merlin was done with his speech.

"Ahhh, good. Good one," he pointed at Merlin. "Even for Moriarty this is low. Common, how much did he pay you? Because I have to admit your acting is spot on."

"No. We weren't hired anybody. A servant gave the king a poisoned apple and we ended up here!" Merlin spat furiously which only sent John into a hysteric laughter.

"Oh Sherlock has to hear this," John was close to tears.

Merlin eyes flashed a vivid gold and Sherlock's pocket knife that held up the Cluedo board was now in his quavering hand.

John gaped dumbfounded, like a fish out of water. His mouth moved trying to form sentences but his brain erupted gibberish. He eyes darted to the fallen board and at Merlin's hand. His head refusing to cease the motion, almost as if he'd find a string attaching the two.

"What the fuck was that?" his voice filled with trepidation.

"I don't want to do anything that will weight on my conscience, so tell me, how do we get back to Camelot?" Merlin said, his teeth chattering.

"Alright, calm down," John stood holding his hands up cautiously. "You have a hell of explaining to do before we can figure something out."

* * *

John's eyes filled with wonder as Merlin explained in detail exactly what was happening. He stopped occasionally to demonstrate his gift to John. His hands motions moving rhythmically to the tone of his story. He clarified how the servant had tricked Arthur into accepting the apple; making sure to let John know that he tried to help but he was far too late.

"The whole of Camelot is in danger. We need to get back," Merlin repeated.

"Wow. Okay. So the blonde one, he really is the legitimate Arthur Pendragon?" John wondered inconceivably.

Merlin nodded.

"Wow, okay. Yeah, living with Sherlock does bring about interesting cases," he admitted.

"This Sherlock, is he the king?" he asked.

"Yeah, the pompous king of dicks," John giggled. "Okay, Merlin; I'm John Watson by the way. I don't think you're going to enjoy what I'm about to tell you. You're in the wrong, era,"  _this is madness_ , he thought to himself. *I must still be dreaming*

"Ah, well John, I don't understand," he shook his head innocently.

"You're stuck in the future; the very, very distant future," his own words sounding rubbish to his own ears.

"Oh," was all Merlin managed before he fainted.

* * *

John shook his head, his medical instincts kicking in, and quickly aided Merlin.

"Hello," John said when Merlin regained consciousness.

"Hi," he reached a hand at his head and it met a damp towel.

"What's your name?" John asked focusing on his pupils with a small flashlight.

"Merlin..." he said following John's finger.

"What's mine?" John kept focused.

"John Watson," Merlin claimed confused.

"Good, you're okay. I think you should explain the situation to Arthur," John suggested. "And I'll do the same with Sherlock so we can sort something out."

"Yes," he said with a smile. "Don't want Arthur trying to stab you with a sword."

"Exactly," John smiled back.

"I'm really sorry about," Merlin motioned to the air.

"Don't apologize. I'd still be laughing if you hadn't done it. At least now I know you're not lying," John smiled.

"Thank you," Merlin said genuinely.

"No problem; if you need anything just ask," he said, walking away to confront Sherlock.

* * *

John dawdled outside the door, his hand hovering slightly above the dull knob. He held his fist up and knocked reluctantly. The soft sound reached Sherlock's ears as he looked through his clothes.

"Come in," he called out.

"Good morning," John said politely and awkwardly rocked back on his heels when he saw a shirtless Sherlock examining his closet. His pale skin beckoning to be admired; His thin, usually hidden, arms now flaunting their raw muscles. John had never seen Sherlock before he was dressed and ready to go through the day. He was so exposed, so real, that John found himself speculating whether anyone had ever been lucky enough to see him like this. He felt so privileged that Sherlock let him be part of his life, not the mad crime-solving one; the domestic one.

"There's no reason for you to knock," he said modestly, not taking his eyes away from the clothes and ending John's though process.

"What? Um, well. Yeah, I guess. Sherlock," John hesitated. "We've got a serious problem."

"And what might that problem be?" Sherlock pretended to be clueless as he slid into a dashing purple dress shirt.

"I know this is going to sound insane but, uh, those blokes from last night," he watched as Sherlock worked the buttons with his nimble fingers. "They claim to be Arthur Pendragon and Merlin. The bloody real ones. The ones from the Arthurian Legends,"  _Oh god, I sound like such a moron._

"Yes, good. Fine," Sherlock said as he threw on his suit jacket and walked to the bathroom.

John followed him and leaned at the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as Sherlock washed his hands.

"Hang on, are you serious?" he asked annoyed.

Sherlock looked at him through the mirror.

"That's it? That's all you've got to say? Sherlock, you're the most logical person I know, you question everything you don't find truth in, and you're just going to take my word without lecturing me about this being a childish fantasy?" he asked incredulously.

"I have yet to acquire any reason as to doubt your judgment," Sherlock said gently. "Surely you can't think he's lying to you after seeing what he can do,"

"How… did you possibly deduce that?" John tried not to stare at Sherlock's reflection too long.

"John, it's hardly unnoticeable wouldn't you say," he smiled smugly.

"Right. Okay. So they aren't lying then?" John wondered.

"You're worried that Moriarty's behind this," Sherlock turned and locked his gaze to John's.

"You want me to admit it? Yes Sherlock, I do," John admitted lamely.

"John, it's alright," he assured. "Moriarty isn't behind this."

"Right. Yes. So.What do we do now then? " John asked impatiently.

"Obvious. Get them back to where they belong," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he brushed his hair.

"Ohhh. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" John said sarcastically. "Let's just get our time machine and send them back."

"John, we don't have a time machine," Sherlock said concerned but thought:  _I do know someone who does, though._

John grunted.

"I know, Sherlock. That was sarcasm," John gave up.

"Oh, right. We're going out. Go get ready," He indicated to John as if he were a toddler.

"Out where?" John asked.

"Food, John. They need food," Sherlock smiled brightly.

"Hang on; you want to go shop for groceries?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Not if you're wearing that," he made a ghastly face at John's pants.

John looked down and blushed; he was in his only pair of boxers.

"Right," he said.

"John?" Sherlock called out.

"What?" he replied.

"Be careful about what you mention, we don't know the exact point they're coming from," he warned.

"Right, and you, don't be a smartass," John walked out to get ready.

* * *

Why was Sherlock acting like this was so bloody normal. Yes the man was off at times, and yes he did get excited about corpses but it's not like he bothered to read up on anything he didn't find useful. For Christ's sake, he didn't even know that the earth went around the sun. The most normal thing he'd ever asked John to do was watch a movie; which was complete rubbish since John had been pushing him to do it a week prior. Even then he babbled on about the plot being completely illogical and the characters being stupid. John, why does his helmet have horns? That's not efficent. Why is he the only one that can use the hammer? John, why are they taking him away? John, it's not possible for someone to be that smart. Why red and gold? That's not very intimidating. John, a person can't survive in the ice for 7 years. John, John, John. He shook the images away. Now Sherlock suddenly believed Arthurian Legends and wanted to go grocery shopping? He was up to something. Whether John wanted to know what it was, he wasn't sure yet. All he knew is that if Sherlock wasn't sharing details with him it only meant he still hadn't worked out whatever he was planning himself. He shrugged it off for the time being. Sherlock not telling him things was usual compared to the current situation they were stuck in. He headed off get ready when he remembered that Arthur and Merlin were still in his room. He was about to knock when he overheard Arthur and Merlin talking. John pressed his ear to the door, unpleased at the fact that he was actually eaves dropping.

"Are you absolutely positive Merlin?" Arthur asked anxiously.

Inside the room, Merlin sat on the edge of the bed while Arthur paced around nervously. Merlin had never seen Arthur like this, even before a battle. Merlin knew that Arthur believed him about being stuck in the future. There was no question about it after he'd seen the bathroom himself and had looked out the window, but he still wasn't keen on the idea of the men being harmless. Merlin had told Arthur everything. Of course he'd skip the part about dropping a glass jar of fingers for fear of Arthur finding a sword and running John and Sherlock through; not to mentioned he'd probably call him clumsy, which to be honest wouldn't be completely inaccurate. But Merlin couldn't let Arthur doubt in John or Sherlock for a moment, they'd been kind enough to take them in and now they we're Arthur and his only hope of getting back home.

"Yes Arthur. I told you, they're not planning to kill us. They are actually really nice. I was awake long enough last night to hear that they didn't mean to harm us. And I met one of them this morning while I, searched around for anything that might indicate otherwise," he lied.

"I swear Merlin if you're wrong, I'll have you in the stocks for an entire year," he warned.

"That's if we ever get back to Camelot," he smiled nervously.

Arthur flashed a wary look at him.

"I'll shut up now," he told himself. Arthur nodded approvingly.

"So Merlin, how exactly do these men plan to help us?" he asked intrigued.

"Oh uh, I don't know. We still have to figure that part out," he said.

"You mean to tell me that…" Arthur was cut off by a loud knock on the door.

They both turned to each other and called for the person to come in simultaneously.

"Oh, hello. I see you've woken up, I'm John Watson," he extended a hand at Arthur who simply looked at it. John let his hand fall to his side.

"I'm Arthur Pendragon," he said, expecting John to bow down.

"Yes, I've been informed. Sorry if I've interrupted, I'm actually just here to get my clothes," he motioned to his closet.

Arthur looked angrily at Merlin who warned for him to calm down.

"Merlin tells me you plan to get us back home," he said confidently, as he examined the short blond man. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Actually, Sherlock and I are still working that out. We need to go buy food right now," John smiled.

"We're going with you," Arthur waved to himself and Merlin.

"Oh, uh. I suppose I'll have to ask Sherlock…" John responded awkwardly.

"We don't have to go if you don't want us to," Merlin interjected.

"Shut up, Merlin. We're going with them. I'm not sure I can trust these men," he admitted.

Meanwhile John slipped into jeans a comfortable stripped jumper.

"Oh," he understood quickly. "Listen, I'm not exactly pleased about this either, Okay? But I can assure to you now, that everything will go along smoother if we clear up that we're not trying to kill you," he told Arthur.

"And how am I supposed to know you're not lying?" Arthur felt uneasy not having his sword at the moment.

"And how do I know for a fact that you are the King of Camelot?" John smirked.

Arthur thought long and hard. How could someone vaguely think for one second that he was the king? He looked drab as a servant in his boring brown trousers and he bared not the crest of Camelot to indicate his royalty.

"If we wanted to kill you we would have done it by now," John added calmly.

"Fair enough," Arthur said unpleased. "However, since I still can't be sure of your loyalty I must let you know that I will not trust you until I am proven wrong."

"That sounds fair enough to me," John shook his head.

"We're still going with you," Arthur replied.

John examined their clothes. Merlin's red shirt looked more like a smock and his brown trousers were a little too baggy; the blue bandana around his neck would undoubtedly turn some heads. Not to mention Arthur was only in pair of shabby brown trousers. He couldn't let them join if they wore those clothes. They would only attract too much unwanted attention.

"Fine. But you're changing," he sighed.

"Why?" Merlin asked innocently.

"Trust me, it's better if we stay low key and not let people find out who you guys are," John pointed out.

"Let's get on with it then," Arthur motioned.

* * *

Sherlock sat gracefully on the foot of the bed and placed his hands underneath his chin. He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace to retrieve the most information he could about Arthurian legends. His mind worked like connected gears, with the rotation of one setting all the others off to create a fluid, steady movement throughout. He read the mental list that he was able to conjure until he found what he wanted.  _Excalibur: derived of magic for purposes to kill the Black knight, forged by the breath of a dragon, mysteriously disappeared without anybody knowing its existence, retrieved from Avalon by Merlin during the Great War to be welded into stone with the use of magic. How obvious can it be that Merlin was the one who threw it into Avalon in the first place?_  Sherlock mocked.  _Pulled from stone by Arthur Pendragon the king of Camelot. The sword was in Arthur's possession during the Great War of Camelot against the rise of the former King's ward Morgana. Arthur did not find out about the Warlock's powers until after the supposed death of Morgana during the war._

Merlin cleared his throat to announce that he was standing somberly in the middle of the room.

"Are you Sherlock? John, he said you could lend me some clothes," Merlin offered coyly.

"He doesn't have a clue about Excalibur," Sherlock whispered, opening his eyes to Merlin to indulge the reaction.

The color drained from his boyish face and his body went rigid.

"How do you know about Excalibur?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock stood and circled the young warlock examining every detail, every element.

"Interesting," he said proudly.  _So the warlock has gotten to the point in his own timeline where he throws Excalibur into Avalon; but Arthur isn't in possession of it yet._ Sherlock though. _So the Great War hasn't happened which can only mean one thing._

"He doesn't know about your magic yet," Sherlock whispered behind Merlin.

"How do you know about Excalibur?" Merlin repeated, this time threateningly.

"Arthurian legends are quite keen on mentioning the inestimable sword," Sherlock said to clarify Merlin's suspicion of John and himself being dangerous.

"Legends?" Merlin asked intriguingly.

"You need clothes. Grab them in the closet. Don't rip them, don't get dirt on them, don't even dare about getting mud on my shoes," Sherlock said unpleased by the fact that John was short.

Merlin grabbed one of the many hanging suits and a white dress shirt from the closet. He got dressed while Sherlock feverishly texted away.

"John!" Sherlock yelled at the top of his lungs without warning, his voice reverberating through the entire flat.

Upstairs John taught Arthur how to use the zipper of his old coat when he heard Sherlock's cry.  _He's in danger,_  John thought instinctively and ran.  
 _Merlin_ , Arthur worried and dashed after John.

* * *

Hurried footsteps raced down the stairs and John burst through the door with Arthur following. Sherlock was standing perfectly fine in the middle of the room.

"Jesus Christ Sherlock!" John panted slightly. "I thought you were,"

"In danger. I know," Sherlock finished. "I needed you to get here quickly. Let's go."

"Sherlock, Merlin and Arthur are," John continued.

"Going with us. Obvious. Now let's go," Sherlock cut John off again.

"Why are you so bloody anxious to go?" John asked to a Sherlock that was already rushing to the front door.

Merlin and Arthur followed the men silently outside. Their jaws dropped in unison. Never had they seen anything like this. The roads were smooth, buildings linked together as far as the eye could see. Strange machines were stationed in front of the buildings and they whizzed by on the road.

"What are those?" Merlin pointed at a grey sports Jaguar making it's way south.

"It's called a car," John explained patiently. "You ride to places in them."

"So it's a metallic horse," Arthur pointed out.

"Something like that," John smiled amused.

Meanwhile Sherlock held up at a hand at a coming cab.

"Are we going in one?" Merlin asked excitedly when the cab slowed down and neared the sidewalk.

"Merlin you sound like a girl. Are we?" Arthur tried to hide his excitement.

John smiled and nodded. Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.

He opened the door for John and motioned to get in. John raised a suspicious eye brow at him but stepped in, Merlin and Arthur going after him.

"I'll meet you at Tesco," Sherlock informed John and shut the door of the cab.

He waited until they were out of sight before anxiously reached for his phone.

**NO NEW MESSAGES.**

Sherlock reluctantly dialed the number that he now had memorized for 26 years. He really did prefer to text but this was a call he ached to make. A simple call that would bring back memories from the only good times in his childhood; a simple call that would remind him why he deleted everything to do with the solar system; a simple call that he had long waited to make. He pressed the phone to his ear as he walked to Tesco.

"Hello?" the male voice answered from the other end of the line.

"If I recall correctly, you me owe me one last trip," Sherlock smirked.

"Who is this?" the man asked warily.

"Hello Doctor. It's Sherlock Holmes."

 


	5. Masterful Tactics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO NOT live in London so I have no clue what the Tesco experience is actually like but I did do some research. However, it's not completely accurate so bare with me. WARNING: there is Johnlock fluff but that still doesn't mean that John is gay! ;)

Gwen set the silver platter in front of Arthur who scowled disgustingly at it.

"What is that monstrosity?" he gestured revoltingly at the perfectly plated dish.

"It's your favorite, Arthur… Are you sure everything is alright?" she asked concerned.

"I told you once already, Guinevere, I'm fine. And from now on you will refer to me with my rightful title: The King of Camelot. Now leave at once," he shooed her away with a languid hand.

Gwen bowed, turning her gaze to the floor and walked out without another word.  _This is very serious_ , she thought as she hurried to find Gaius.

* * *

The old man sat with an untouched bowl of stew in front of him. At this hour, Merlin would be sitting across from him, complaining about all the chores Arthur had given him. However, he wasn't. Gaius had rounded the entire castle earlier and nobody had seen Merlin. He'd walked the lower town hoping to find him hiding from the King, but he was nowhere to be seen. He'd stumbled into Gwaine who assured him that Arthur had left the party with Merlin. It didn't make any sense. Merlin would never go off without informing Gaius. The boy drove him insane sometimes with his curious nature and habit of getting into trouble, but he was like a son to Gaius. Not to mention he'd promised Hunith to take care of her only son. What was he supposed to tell her if he was hurt? How was he supposed to fulfill his destiny if he was missing? Gaius knew that they were in trouble, but he didn't understand the severity of the situation until Arthur had refused to talk to him, claiming that he hadn't request  _'the_ physician _'_. The tremor inside him was worsened by the minute.

"Gaius," Gwen peeked through the door to find the old man lost in thought.

"Oh, come in Gwen," he called.

"Gaius did you find out anything?" she asked desperately.

"Arthur refused to speak with me today, and Merlin is missing," he answered worriedly.

"Gaius, I'm scared. Arthur told me to refer to him as 'King' and he isn't even worried about Merlin. It's like he isn't even himself," glistening tears now rolling down her flushed cheeks.

"You're right. Arthur would never act like this. Unless… pass me that book will you Gwen?" Gaius pointed to an old brown book whose spine was well worn.

Gwen reached for the shelf, pulled down the dusty book, and handed it to Gaius. She looked patiently over his shoulder while he flipped through the frail yellowing pages.

"Ah here it is, _corpus mutatio_. The ancient potion has the power to distort the physical appearance of a person into any desired form. The object will remain in that state unless administered an antidote or otherwise killed by the form it has taken," he sighed loudly.

"What that does that mean?" Gwen bit her lip nervously.

"It means, Gwen, that Arthur might not be Arthur at all."

* * *

The glass doors slid open by themselves, revealing shelves of packaged products. Arthur and Merlin's jaws dropped wide open at the sight of all food. Aisles of futuristic stuff lined the walls and filled the vast space. Shiny talking machines were aligned at the front of the store; and people pranced around mindlessly throwing junk into their rolling metal cars.

"Come on," John said picking up a grocery basket.

"What are all these things?" Merlin asked turning his head in all directions.

"It's food. I know it's different but I promise it doesn't taste bad. So uh, what do you guys usually eat?" John asked without the faintest idea.

"We eat what you would call chicken, beef, pork, and sausage. Many different cheeses, fruit, and wine," Arthur said making an effort to look unimpressed.

"Oh okay, yeah that's fine. We can buy all that," John smiled.

"Will you have enough gold to buy all of that?" Arthur asked; some rambunctious teenagers standing near the self-checkout made and effort to giggle discretely.

"Ah, no no. We're using Sherlock's card," John flashed a warning look at the king.

"Right. We are using Sherlock's card," Arthur repeated.

They followed John like ducks around the store while he threw stuff into the basket. Their eyes darting in all directions as they walked and read the boxes of products: Tim-tams, Nabisco Grams, Oreo, Chips Ahoy, Milano, Verona, Honey Maid, Gold Fish Crackers, Teddy Grahams, Pop Tarts, Milka ChocoCookies, Nilla Wafers, Jammie Dodgers; the colors overwhelming to their eyes.

Arthur was stumped when he saw the variety of cheeses. Some of the most exquisite cheeses were gracefully arranged next to the milk. Arthur tugged on Merlin's sleeve and indicated to follow him while John intently examined the milk. Merlin followed Arthur quietly about the aisles until they were far away from John.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked worriedly.

"Merlin, I'm starting to believe that we really are in future," Arthur hands formed two strong fists. "I mean look at this Merlin!" he squished a bag of Haribo marshmallows and tossed it to Merlin who mimicked him.

"It's soft and squishy," he smiled.

"Exactly, Merlin! This stuff isn't normal!" Arthur cried. "It's strange."

"Okay Arthur calm down," Merlin hushed.

"I can't calm down Merlin! We're in the future! Camelot is in danger; I can't just be calm knowing that my people are Kingless. They have no guidance, no reassurance that everything will be alright!" Arthur finally went ballistic.

"Well I wouldn't say they're kingless… Before I ran to stop you, that servant drank a potion and transformed into you…." Merlin felt guiltily.

"What!" Arthur gripped Merlin by the collar. "Why didn't you tell me this before you buffoon!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to worry you even more. It's bad enough that we're stuck here!" Merlin ripped himself from Arthur's gripping and straightened the suit remembering what Sherlock had said.

"We have to get back!" Arthur wailed. "We have to."

"Listen I have a plan," Merlin said.

"Oh great. Merlin has a plan. We're safe," Arthur said sarcastically.

"We were obviously sent here by magic with that apple right? Maybe John can help us find a book of magic to recreate the spell that was used on the apple so we can go back," he explained, ignoring Arthur's remark.

"That's… not a bad idea I have to admit. But how on earth are we going to find a sorcerer?" Arthur argued.

"Maybe John can help with that too. Surely some warlocks had children," he lied.

Arthur paced down the aisle nervously, suffocating the bag of marshmallows in the process.

"Fine. If it's our only option then let's try," Arthur said miserably.

* * *

"Do you guys drink milk?" John turned to find that he was talking to himself. "Merlin? Arthur?" But they were gone.

"Fuck," me muttered quietly and marched about aisle in search for them.

* * *

"Are you sure you can't make the antidote Gaius?" Gwen asked nervously.

"I'm afraid not, Gwen. Some of the ingredients are extremely rare. Not to mention we can't finish the potion without the essence of the person that transformed into Arthur," Gaius explained.

"There must be something else we can do," she suggested apprehensively.

"Unless we find out who it was that drank the potion in the first place, I'm afraid there is nothing to do but wait for Merlin and the real Arthur to turn up."

* * *

John found Merlin and Arthur playing with a bag of marshmallows in the candy aisle.

"Why did you guys just wander off? You can't to that!" John lectured and ripped the bag out of Arthur's hand.

"We're sorry. We wanted apples," Merlin looked around innocently.

"You guys could have just asked! You don't just leave, understood? "  _So this is what it's like to have children,_  he thought to himself.

Merlin and Arthur nodded like a pair of reprimanded 5 year olds.

"Good, let's go," he said angrily.

"Can we get those?" Arthur pointed to the bag filled with now deformed treats.

"Yeah, sure. Just don't leave my sight again," he warned. "Let's go find the apples and get out of here."

* * *

"You stupid machine. The card is in the slot!" John cried.

People standing by looked away to ignore the little fiasco.

"Maybe if you ask it nicely," Merlin offered.

"No," John gave up and tried to slip Sherlock's credit card in again.

**Please insert cash or a credit card** , the machine said robotically.

"The damn card is in!" he wailed annoyed.

A thin brunette in a Tesco uniformed approached them.

"Is everything alr…John? John Watson?" She asked surprised.

"Elizabeth? Eh, hi," John smiled.

"What are you doing here?" She bat her lashes.

"Just getting some food, do you work here?"  _No idiot she just happens to own a Tesco uniform._

"Yeah. I didn't know you were back in London. What have you been up to?" She smiled a little too friendly.

"Yes, I am. I've been…"  _living with a sociopath, solving mysterious murders, babysitting Arthur Pendragon and Merlin the warlock from the Arthurian Legends, and cleaning human fingers off the floor,_  "…settling down," he offered lamely.

"Oh, well maybe we can go out sometime to catch up," she pursed her lips seductively.

"Sure," he smiled. "Maybe."

"John, let's go home, this place is dull," Sherlock called from behind him, making him jump just a little.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John held a hand to his chest.

"Oh," Elizabeth said as if she'd just realized the meaning of life. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were," she motioned to Sherlock.

"Yes. What? No! No. No, uh, no. I'm not gay," he clarified as usual.

"John, I want tea. Let's go," Sherlock insisted.

"Well I'll see you around," Elizabeth turned away without another word.

"You just had to, exist," John directed at Sherlock.

"It's hardly my fault if your ex-girlfriends know you're gay," he gestured nonchalantly.

"Know?" he repeated blankly.

**Thank you for shopping at Tesco Express** , the machine said.

"Hang on, what did you do?" John peeked over Sherlock.

"Hardly a difficult deduction," he said and strode away.

John huffed calmly and picked up the copious amount of bags.

_Gay?_  Merlin mouthed at Arthur. The King shrugged.

* * *

The butter sizzled noisily in the pan until it was completely melted.

"So what exactly do you want us to do?" John stirred the onions into the butter.

"Help us get back to Camelot," Merlin found himself repeating for the third time.

"How?" John wafted the smell of the caramelized onions and poured in the wet rice.

"We were sent here by magic so the only way to get back is by magic," he explained.

"And? I don't see how Sherlock and I can help with that," John reached for the ladle and spooned the chicken broth into the rice.

"We need a book of magic," Merlin nodded.

"A magic book?" Arthur heard John ask Merlin in the kitchen.

"Yes, a book of magic," Merlin repeated to John.

Meanwhile in the living room, Sherlock sat across Arthur, violin in hand, both waiting patiently for dinner.

"The thing about sentiment is that no matter how much you bother to hide it, the physical defects will always expose you," Sherlock suddenly said, and settled his violin gracefully on his lap.

"What?" Arthur asked confused.

"The first stupid mistake people make is letting sentiment be a factor to their decisions, the second is denying what they feel to themselves ; it creates an urge, an impulse, and ardent passion that burns wildly," he smirked egoistically at Arthur.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur glanced nervously towards the kitchen.

"Transparent, is it not?" Sherlock wiped his bow with a gray rag.

"No," Arthur denied.

"You," he pursed his lips. "And Merlin," he picked up his violin, walked to the window and started fiddling away.

Arthur got up angrily and gripped Sherlock by his collarbone. Sherlock glared at the King's hand as if it were a hideous pest.

"Shut up," he hissed in Sherlock's ear.

The consulting detective death-stared at Arthur Pendragon.

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you. People are so ignorant and oblivious it would take them years to see what I noticed in seconds. Who would have thought, The King of Camelot, in love with his manservant," he spat viciously in Arthur's face.

The king whisked the instrument out Sherlock's hand and tossed it on the floor furiously. Sherlock smirked and his fist met Arthur's jaw in a haste. The King stumbled backwards and smiled menacingly before kneeing Sherlock in the stomach. He let out a painful grunt and tactically head-butted Arthur, who swiftly fell unconscious to the floor.

"What the hell is going on?" John ran in and saw Arthur lying on the floor.

"Arthur!" Merlin knelt to the floor beside him. "What did you do to him!"

"He touched my violin," Sherlock said while straightening his suit jacket.

Merlin directed his open palm at Sherlock without hesitating. " _Ic þé wiþdrífe_ ," his eyes flashed gold and Sherlock went flying; his back banging the yellow spray-painted smiley on the wall before falling to the couch unconscious.

_The wall had it coming_ , Sherlock's words repeated themselves in Johns head.  _Looks like the wall had its revenge._

"Why did you do that!" John howled.

"He hurt Arthur!" Merlin barked.

"He touched his violin!" John yelled as if that justified Sherlock's irrational actions. "I'm the only who's allowed to… Jesus! Jesus! You've killed him," he swore as he rushed to Sherlock and placed two fingers to his pale neck. The pulse beat rhythmically against his hand.

"Arthur didn't know that! He wouldn't have attacked your… him if he didn't have a reason! He'll be fine a couple of hours," Merlin pressed his ear to Arthur's mouth. His breath felt warm against Merlin's earlobe.

"What?" John looked up wide-eyed.

"Arthur would never mindlessly attack anyone," Merlin defended.

"No, what did you say about Sherlock?" John demanded.

"He'll be fine a couple of hours," Merlin tried to distract John by hovering his hand over Arthur's chest and chanting _Gestepe hole! Þurhhæle_.

"No, you said your and then you stopped," John pointed at the warlock. "My what?"

"Your," Merlin paused awkwardly, "boyfriend."

"Yeah.. WHAT? No! Oh Christ. This is unbelievable. Merlin from the Arthurian Legends calling me, gay," he giggled maniacally to himself and headed back into the kitchen to finish Sherlock's favorite risotto.

* * *

"Wow, really. Wow," John kept saying as he set Sherlock gently on the bed.

He reclined him against the pillows and undid the buttons of his tight shirt to make sure he could breathe. Sherlock grunted loudly and slowly saw that John had unbuttoned his shirt completely.

"This is not what it looks like," he blushed.

"Risotto. I want some," Sherlock demanded and tried to get up but was pushed back to the pillows by John's sturdy arm.

"I'll get you some in a minute," he promised.

"And tea. Get me more tea, I want tea," he made no effort to fight against John's grip.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" John asked irritated.

Sherlock's lips curled to a slight smile. John crossed his arms over his chest.

"Don't, don't start with the look," he shook his head.

Sherlock sighed. "Merlin feels the same for Arthur but The Duhh, uuh Legends say that he still married Guinevere," he said as if that cleared things up.

"Feels?" John asked incomprehensively.

"Yes. Feels. Obviously," Sherlock explained.

"I don't understand," John admitted frustratingly.

"He's in love with him," Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Oh. Oh…" John wondered how Sherlock could have possibly deduced that but quickly understood why his friend had found himself hitting the wall. "Hang on, you told Arthur that, didn't you? You opened your big mouth and got yourself knocked out by Merlin."

"It was a hardly a serious risk. I was willing to take it in order to obtain the information I desired," he assured.

"What information, Sherlock?" John asked incredulously.

"That Merlin felt the same way. At fist I thought it was unconditional loyalty, but I couldn't be sure. There was something else, the way he held himself after I'd mentioned Excalibur, the way Arthur rushed in after you and they looked at each other. I devised a little plan on our way back from Tesco to see what he would be willing to do if the King was hurt. And sure enough without even hesitating," Sherlock let the last words hang in the air.

"He defended Arthur without reason and sent you flying to the wall," John finished.

"Precisely," Sherlock smiled proudly.

"You know, you could have told me to ask Merlin and saved us a very unnecessary argument," John lectured.

"Boring," Sherlock stated. "Besides you already cleared things up over dinner and promised we'd help them. Risotto, now."

"Yes your majesty," John rolled his eyes and muttered sarcastically but went to get Sherlock his risotto.

* * *

Merlin handed Arthur the bowl after he'd sat up in the bed.

"What is it?" Arthur sniffed the bowl suspiciously.

"John said it's called Risotto. It's rice. It's good," Merlin encouraged with a smile.

Arthur reluctantly raised the spoon to his mouth and tasted the rice. It was creamy and smooth. He could taste small hints of very expensive cheese and very sweet onions.

"It's good," he repeated and took another spoonful.

"See," Merlin said sheepishly and leaned back into the wooden chair John had set up next to the bed.

"When my head stops hurting I'm going to run that man through with a sword," Arthur took a sip of the wine in the red mug that Merlin had set on the dresser.

"It's fine I knocked him out," Merlin slipped.  _Oh no_ , he thought immediately.

"You?" Arthur asked humorously.

"Uh, yeah," Merlin shook his head innocently.

"How?" Arthur asked skeptically.

"I punched him," Merlin lied.

"You, punched, him?" he grinned dubiously.

"Mhmm, he wasn't looking and I punched him," he nodded conformingly.

"Why?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Because…. because you're the King of Camelot. Why did you attack him, hmm?" Merlin flipped the argument around.

"Because he… called me stupid," Arthur lied.

"And that's why you attacked him?" Merlin suspected that Arthur was lying.

"Yes, he said I was arrogant and stupid," he tried to sound more convincing.

"I see. So he didn't, I don't know, say anything?" Merlin knew that Sherlock somehow knew that he had magic but if he'd told Arthur, Merlin was sure that he would be the one getting run through with a sword.

"Yes he said I was arrogant and stupid. Why are you so interested, Merlin?" Arthur sipped the risotto.

"I'm not, I just don't want to bring you back to Camelot dead, that's all," he assured.

"That reminds me, how are we getting back?" He smiled angrily.

" You don't have to worry about that," he rested his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "John said he would find us a book of magic on the internet."

"Internet?" he stirred uneasily under Merlin's palm.

"Yeah, I don't know but he promised me he would enter the internet tonight and find the book. He also said he heard of a sorcerer that might be willing to help," he lied once more, remembering the plan that John and himself had decided upon during dinner.

John had agreed to go acquire everything he needed to create an aging potion, the antidote, and the book of magic. After Merlin was done making the potion, John would trick Arthur into thinking that Merlin and Sherlock had gone out to buy more food; then, John would fake getting in contact with Dragoon the Great and he would come over to their home and give Arthur an apple to send them back. Arthur would never suspect anything if they were careful enough.

"He knows a sorcerer?" Arthur was skeptical once more.

"Well, he said he'd heard of a sorcerer and that he would contact him as soon as possible, all we to do is wait until he finds him," Merlin smiled convincingly.

"Are you sure this is going to work Merlin?" Arthur sounded concerned now.

"Arthur, I promise you, we will be back in Camelot," Merlin gazed lustfully into Arthur's eccentric blue eyes. "I may just be a servant, but I will do anything to protect you from harm."

"Don't say that Merlin," Arthur set his hand on Merlin's tigh. "You are not my servant. You are my best friend, I would kill for you if I had to," he approached Merlin for a long overdue hug. Arthur prohibited himself this sort of contact with Merlin for fear of being pushed away. It was becoming a big problem to keep his hands off his ivory skin, to stop himseld from brushing the back of fingers along that glorious neck. The butterflies in his stomach began to stir up a storm. Merlin extended his arms and hugged back tightly. For the first time since these feelings had arisen, Arthur puzzled over the idea of Merlin feeling the same.

"I would do anything for you, Arthur," Merlin whispered into his ear, sending chills over his body.

"I know," he felt Arthur's slightly parted lips make contact with the nape of his neck. They felt tender and warm against his exquisitely pallid skin.

"Arthur," Merlin warned, blood inappropriately rushing to the wrong places.

"Merlin," Arthur rasped against his skin. "Shut up."

* * *

John reclined back on the multitude of pillows, laptop resting on his fatigued legs, while he waited patiently for his it to load. In the bathroom, Sherlock brushed his teeth with ardent intensity. The door was cracked open just enough for John to relish the humorous and engrossing act. Sherlock's blue night robe hung lazily over his shoulders as his hand moved rhythmically up and down, up and down, followed by his cheeks inflating as he swished the water around in his mouth before spitting in the sink. He set his toothbrush down, flashed an artificial smile in the mirror, and then proceeded to flop on his stomach unusually close John.

"I see I kept you entertained," he grinned at John who typed  _Book of Magic_  into Google.

"Yeah," he smirked and went to click on the second link, his naked elbow grazing Sherlock's shoulder in the process.

"No, don't do that," Sherlock whimpered seductively.

John's eyes widened at the stimulated response and looked down; Sherlock was facing the other way with his head resting on his hands.

"Sherlock I have to find a damn magic book for Merlin or we'll be sharing a bed for longer than is acceptable," he attempted to mask the effect of Sherlock's tone.

Sherlock grunted.

"What?" John asked refusing to turn away from the screen.

"You're not going to find the book he wants on the internet," Sherlock muttered into the pillow.

"Well at least I'm trying to help," he said calmly. "You said Lestrade would be here," he mocked to piss Sherlock off about being wrong.

"No he's too busy shagging Myrcroft. I just said that to so we wouldn't be out of the flat for long," he informed casually.

"WHAT?" he stopped scrolling down the fourth result page not expecting such a reply.

Sherlock shot his head up in a flash and starred at John.

"Oh stupid, stupid," he laughed as he cocked his head back.

"What?" John glanced quickly over at Sherlock.

"You weren't wearing a shirt this morning," he said as if that explained everything.

"What?" John turned to him.

"When I woke up you were shirtless but you were cold. Physically cold."

John looked at him blankly hoping that Sherlock wouldn't see the embarrassment in his eyes. Sherlock saw the slight drown of color in John's cheeks. He sat up, legs crossed, hands under his chin.

"You had a nightmare, you woke up sweating; you would have never taken your shirt off otherwise. Not after having the dilemma you had with yourself about being gay. But you didn't get another one even though you were co… Oh. Obvious. You didn't want to,"

"No, Sherlock. That's not wh… Hang on a minute! How did you know I was cold this morning? I wasn't even here when you woke up," John accused.

"That's right," Sherlock swore internally at his clumsy mistake.

"No you did wake before me didn't you!" John was about to argue his point further when he realized what it meant if Sherlock had woken up before him. "So? "he asked angrily.

"So what?" Sherlock pretended to be clueless.

"Don't play stupid with me Sherlock. Did you… see anything?" John asked softly.

"Nothing unusual, no. You were sleeping perfectly next to me. Everything was in its place. Unless you're referring to something else?" Sherlock said turning the game into his favor once more.

"No, it's all fine," John smiled to distract Sherlock from his jittery hands.

"Good," Sherlock laid back down, this time facing the ceiling, and quickly deduced the situation. _He's avoiding the subject in hopes of this morning repeating itself. Clear from the sudden drain of colour in his face, trembling hands, and refusal to look up from his laptop after a remark about sharing a bed._

Sherlock turned to face John and set his head on a propped arm.

"John," he reached a hand up to his John's face and pulled him down to set his own lips lightly on his. John closed his eyes and let his hand slip from the laptop onto Sherlock's hipbone; the importance of the search, instantly forgotten. He kissed back, his tongue pressing against Sherlock's luscious lips. Sherlock parted his lips, to welcome John's rough tongue against his own, his eyes, involuntarily closing, his hand getting tangled in the army doctor's hair. John could still taste the sweet traces of mouthwash that lingered in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock was completely clueless on what to do, and simply mimicked what John was doing. He felt John's grip tighten on his hip. Maybe he hadn't really thought this through.

"Noooooo, no" John muttered into their kiss.

"No! Sherlock!" luckily for him John pulled away before his body betrayed him.

"What the hell Sherlock! Bad Sherlock! Bad!" John scolded as if he were a dog.

"Don't bother John, it was merely an experiment. Goodnight," he turned on his stomach and closed his eyes, this time to sleep.

" _An experiment_?" he shouted furiously. "Sod this! Sod this. I need tea," He got up from the bed and stormed out of the room making sure to slam the door with great vigor.

* * *

Tobias ambulated the room in a dreadful manner while he waited for the bells to indicate that it was midnight. Seconds seemed like hours, minutes resembled years, hours passed like centuries. He kept looking around nervously as if expecting Arthur and Merlin to jump from behind the changing screens.  _What if they know I drank the potion? What if they realize I'm gone? What am I supposed to do if the stupid effect doesn't last? What if the hag rats me out? What if….._  his last question dissolved in mist when the chime rang quietly and progressively grew louder. A smile slowly replaced his alarming expression.

"I did it," he whispered in disbelief.

"I am the King of Camelot," he mumbled wickedly.

"I am The once and future King of Camelot!" he cried triumphantly to the well built reflection in the stained glass window.


	8. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an excuse to write fluff, because I love fluff.

"Arthur, no," Merlin forced Arthur back with much effort. "Arthur, we can't do this."

"Hmmm," Arthur whimpered going back in for Merlin's neck.

"Nooo, Arthur!" Merlin got up swiftly and let him fall to the chair. "What has gotten into you?"

"I know we're friends but this," he gestured to the gap, "can't happen."

The King sighed and ambulated the room without a word.

"Listen, Merlin," he gestured resigned.

"No, I don't want to hear it. I care about you but we have to get back." Merlin fidgeted with the buttons on Sherlock's suit.

"Merlin that has nothing to do with this," Arthur gestured this time.

"Yes it does Arthur, we will be back eventually and what happens then? You're the King of Camelot. And there's Gwen ? You can't do this to her," Merlin said feeling guilty about forgetting Guinevere.

"Merlin," Arthur was speechless. Merlin was right. But somehow Arthur couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the slight tickle in his gut every time he was near Merlin. He could just ignore it and blame it on his responsibilities any more. It was time to address the fact that the feelings he had for Merlin were no longer platonic. He didn't know how it had boiled down to it, or why, but the strange feeling of his limbs turning into jelly when he saw Merlin first thing in the morning or felt his fingertips on his bare shoulders as he dressed him for the day couldn't be ignored anymore. The ache to just reach out for him and pull him close was overwhelming. He'd already betrayed his word to keep his hands to himself by reaching for Merlin and ravaging his neck. He was the King of Camelot. Merlin had all right to say this couldn't work out. And then there was Gwen. Sweet, innocent Guinevere. He couldn't keep using her. He loved Gwen, but he wasn't in love with her. It hadn't been until after he'd found himself comparing her touches to Merlin's when he'd realized what had happened. He wasn't in love with  _her_ , but he still felt the tender need to protect her after all she'd been through. If anybody were worthy enough to share the throne with him, it was Guinevere. He couldn't just turn his back on her. What kind of man would he be if he didn't keep his word? He'd betrayed himself, that was enough to soil his conscience. He was the King. He had sworn to the duty of protecting the people of Camelot; hiding away in the future with Merlin wasn't even an option to consider. They had to get back, and he had to abide his reign. He had to follow through with his destiny, even if it meant giving up the one he loved.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Merlin set his hand lightly on Arthur's shoulder who flinched at the contact.

"You're right Merlin. I am sorry for loosing control; for my actions. Perhaps it would be better if we went our separate ways when we get back," Arthur said emotionless. It pained him to no end to try and set Merlin aside.

"You don't want me to serve you anymore," it wasn't a question.

Arthur quickly weighed the two options he had. He could watch Merlin go and forget about him. He'd pass his days on miserably wondering what he was doing, how he was. It would hurt. It would hurt to not see him, it would hurt just not knowing. Or he could let him stay and swallow the pain of knowing that there was no possibility of anything happening. At least if Merlin was by his side he would know where he was, and if he was in any sort of danger he could quickly rescue him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Of course you will still be my, servant. But we shouldn't be friends," he said ignoring the ache in his chest. How had this gangly, boyish idiot furrowed so deep into his heart?

"I understand," Merlin stared blankly at the ground. "I'll ask John if I can sleep elsewhere."

"No," Arthur refused quickly. "You don't have to do that. Besides I said when we got back. And, just because we shouldn't be friends doesn't mean I'll stop caring about you the way I do."

"You care about me?" Merlin hid a smile.

"Of course I care about you," Arthur jumped across the room and pulled his head under his arm and ruffled the dark hair on Merlin's head. The warlock struggled to get out of his grip. He tickled Arthur's stomach and they both fell to the bed giggling.

"You dollop head," Merlin tickled Arthur ferociously. Arthur laughed maniacally and flipped Merlin on his back.

"You're such a girl," he chuckled, catching a hold of Merlin's writs and pinning them over his head on the bed.

Arthur licked his lips and fought the urge to plunge down and seize Merlin. A door slammed down stairs, scaring him off.

Merlin stood up and pressed his ear to the door. Arthur motioned for him to get back on the bed but he refused. Arthur rolled his eyes and joined Merlin at the door. His hips a little too close to Merlin's back.

There was some rustling down stairs and then complete silence fell over the flat.

Arthur tugged on Merlin's elbow and pulled him away.

"What do you think happened?" he asked Arthur.

"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "Let them work it out. They can't be fighting if they expect to help us. "

"You're right, plus I'm exhausted." Merlin yawned.

"I'm a bit tired too," he yawned as well. "We should sleep. It's been a long day."

"Good idea," Merlin awkwardly slipped out of Sherlock's suit.

Arthur joined in and took off John's soft sweater. They both laid still under the covers and looked up at the ceiling.

"We'll goodnight," Merlin smiled.

"Goodnight Merlin," Arthur said and turned his back away from him.

He waited until Merlin was snoring quietly to turn to him and slip an arm over his shoulders.

* * *

John?" Sherlock looked up to see that John had actually left.

He sighed and sulked like an angry child.  _Not good_ , he told himself as he ruffled the abundance of curls on his head. He had to do  _something_.

"Mind palace, my mind palace," he muttered to himself and rested his hands under his chin.

_There is no reason for him to be upset. It's his own fault I kissed him. He made it obvious that he wanted the same thing. He was practically inviting me. He didn't even pull back when he knew about my intended actions. Clearly he's also keen that we crossed the boundary of flat mates long ago otherwise he wouldn't even be having internal arguments about being gay. He wouldn't even be doubting himself if he wasn't interested in another male, and clearly it isn't Lestrade or Anderson. It's me, obviously. And he kissed back, in fact he was a little more than pleased judging by the hip gripping and the sudden rush of blood flow to his penis. His subconscious already decided for him when he didn't agree to go out with that hideous ex-girlfriend of his from Tesco. I didn't do anything for him to be upset. I made it clear that he's mi…_

"An experiment," he muttered angrily.

_Of course, I called him an experiment. Oh stupid, stupid! Now he's under the impression that he's jut a phase to me. I see no reason as to why he should think that. I've made it quite obvious that he isn't. I do remember telling him that I'm married to my work, and now he's part of it. How much more obvious could I be? Surely he knows he's mine now… He's not as idiotic as the others, he should know by now... But he hasn't. Why?_

He couldn't sit there and let John feel used. That's not what Sherlock had intended when he'd kissed him. He just wanted to show John that it was  _all_  fine. That he didn't want him, he needed him. Needed his presence, needed his warmth, needed him to make tea, and commend his intelligence, to stay human. He needed John. He wasn't just the bloke who helped pay the rent anymore, he wasn't temporary. He was his partner, his blogger, his everything. He had become an essential part of his life, of his work. Sherlock couldn't just sit there and risk loosing  _his_  John to something as insidious as a misinterpreted kiss. He couldn't. He wouldn't allow it; he was going to fix it because he was Sherlock Holmes the only Consulting Detective in the world. He had the answer to everything. He was a genius and if there was one case he needed to solve, it was this one. He had to fix this. His brain did back flips as to what he was supposed to do. He'd never found himself in any situation like this before John Hamish Watson had showed up. What was he supposed to do now?

_He has all the clues to the puzzle, what more could he possibly need? It has to deal with sentiment otherwise he would have put them all together by this point. Sentiment, sincere and raw, that would make him realize. That must be what he needs..._

_Oh. Surely he can't assume that I'm going to apologize for his mistake. No of course not! I shouldn't have to. But if I don't he'll still think he's a phase…_

"I have to Apologize," he opened his bright blue eyes having lost track of time. It could be morning for all he knew but he had to find John. He just had to apologize, it couldn't be that hard. Could it?  _No of course it's not; just say sorry and things will mend themselves right up._

He slid into his blue robe and cocked his neck back. Just apologize. He paced nervously behind his door. Apologize.

* * *

John ignored the steam rising profusely from his cup and gulped down his tea in one go. It scorched his tongue numb and left his throat aching. He poured himself some more, this time pausing to acknowledge his reflection in the honey coloured liquid. His fine hair frizzed up in all directions where Sherlock had run his hand and the shade of his face was close to a beets. He didn't bother fixing it; instead he leaned back further into his chair, legs crossed, stomach still fluttering. He refused to believe that Sherlock had actually kissed him.  _And you snogged back_ , his damn brain reminded him. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip at the memory; how Sherlock had spontaneously reached a hand up to his face and pulled him down; the feel of his hip through the thin silk of his pajama pants, the taste of his sweet tongue crushing against the roof of his mouth.

_An experiment_ , his voice rang, snapping John out of it.

He didn't want to comprehend why the entire situation bothered him so much. He didn't want to be one of Sherlock's experiments nor did he want to end up as catalogued data in a dusty journal inside one of the many boxes cluttering up their flat. He couldn't just be temporary entertainment to the man. He needed him. He needed Sherlock. He could feel the rage building up in his chest and pushing against his ribcage because he knew why he was so angry which enraged him even more. He just didn't want to accept the fact that he had fallen for his flat mate. He couldn't. He couldn't risk loosing Sherlock if he didn't feel the same. Not to mention that the idea of people gossiping about him frightened his soul to an abyss of embarrassment. He knew what it was like to be judged. He'd seen it with Harry; he didn't want to be in her shoes. He couldn't. He shuddered at the involuntary memory of the night Harriet had come out.

It was the 24th of December and the majority of the Watson family was sitting around the table for Christmas Eve dinner, waiting for a 20 year old Harry experiencing the wonders of alcohol with her friends to get home. She'd arrived late reeking of vodka and vomit smeared on her light blue shirt. She'd made scene, apologizing for having some actual fun.

"Harriet, please!" her mother had scoffed.

"Oh and mum, I'm a lesbian!" she'd slurred drunkenly in response.

His mother's face had made no movement apart from the slight quiver in her left brow before half pushing, half dragging his older sister upstairs. Everyone in the dining hall had suddenly gone quiet and awkwardly looked down at their plates, nudging the peas around as if there were a grand prize to whomever did it more discretely.

"Erm, John," Sherlock whispered behind him, sending his heart racing into a frenzy.

"What do you want Sherlock?" he asked gruffly.

"Can, uh, let's discuss this," Sherlock hesitated and John could swear he heard the slightest tinge of nervousness in that deep voice.

"There's nothing to discuss, Sherlock," John pushed passed him and headed towards the kitchen for his third cup of tea.

"John," he followed closely. "I forgive you."

The image of a massive rock falling from a cliff into a violent river that washed it away like the hopes of ameliorating the situation flooded Sherlock's mind. That really hadn't come out how he had intended it to…

John broke out in a heart filled laughter. "You forgive  _me_?" he mocked. "What could you possibly be forgiving  _me_  for, Sherlock?"

"For making it quite obvious that you wanted me," Sherlock let out casually, having no option but to go with it.

John almost chocked on his tea.  _Wanted?_

"Want," Sherlock corrected as if John had spoken out loud.

John gripped the cup fiercely in his tiny hands and let the warmth seep into his palms. He doubted for the first time since they'd met, that he could look Sherlock in the eye without actually dissolving into a huge puddle of Strawberry Jam. His face drowned into an alarming shade of red.

"Erm, John, it's fine," Sherlock repeated like the second time John had complemented his deduction skills while they hovered over Jennifer Wilson's lifeless body.

"Umm, Sherlock," John looked up at the ceiling as if it were a fascinating work by Michael Angelo himself.

"I uh, I am… sorry that I called you an experiment," Sherlock choked out awkwardly.

"What?" John looked at Sherlock for the first time.

"You heard me perfectly, I'm not saying it again," Sherlock cocked sternly.

John pursed his lips and glanced around not quite believing what he was hearing. Was Sherlock Holmes actually apologizing to him?

"You're not,"  _why is this so fucking difficult?_  "You're not just, data to me, John. You're… more. A lot more."

John starred deeply into those raw turquoise pools and instantly understood what Sherlock was getting at. His confused puppy dog face finally made sense to John, who couldn't help but smile at the feel of tender fervor pulsing through his veins.

"You're an idiot," John's smile seemed to glow at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked, cupping his hands to John's cheeks before leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead that sent pulses of electricity about John's goosebumps.

He pushed up on his toes and pulled Sherlock by the neck into a passionate kiss. John's hands tugged at Sherlock's curls when he felt the detective's hands slip from his face to his lower back.

"This doesn't mean I'm gay," he clarified and pulled back to look up Sherlock.

"Of course not," Sherlock agreed and leaned back in to taste that sweet chamomile tongue against his own.


End file.
